Hearts
by aradiamegid013
Summary: Sherlock has had to fake his death... AGAIN. How will John handle a couple months without Sherlock? How will Sherlock deal with having to stay away? And seriously, what the hell are the hearts for?
1. Writing The Eulogy

**Day 1- 5 Days until the funeral**

John sat at his desk, scribbling on to paper, crumpling it up, then throwing against the wall. He grabbed a new sheet, then put his head in his hands. Sherlock had written a speech for him, but it lacked the emotion that John said he needed in this kind of speech. He took some phrases and ideas from Sherlock's writing, but added his own as well. How was he supposed to be sad about his best friend's "death" when he wasn't really dead?

Sherlock had to fake his death- again- and this time he actually told John. And Molly. And Mycroft. But he couldn't tell everyone, especially his parents. They would get on to him about it, and he couldn't have them know.

John looked up and out the window, watching the cars drive by. He smiled. "Of course, if he had to do this, he'd have a plan. A brilliant one, at that." Because Sherlock, being Sherlock, always had a plan.

Sherlock had contacted Molly and John approximately three hours after he pretended to get executed. He was supposedly shot, but in reality, he grabbed a body from the morgue, dressed it up like him, then put it on the floor, covered in fake blood. Once everyone was convinced, they cleaned the body up and put him back, Sherlock already miles away in a getaway car.

His plan was to return in about four months, and he would go straight to Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson would be the first to know, then his family, then his friends, then everyone. Of course his plan of action was to burst into a journalist's office and shout, "The game is still on!" and announce to the world that nobody could kill Sherlock Holmes.

John smiled for a moment before slipping back into a frown. He scribbled more on the paper.

"Oh, my dear John! You look terrible." squeaked as she walked into the flat. "Let me get you some tea-"

"No, no, I'm fine. Could you, uh leave me? I'm writing the, uh, thing." he trailed off. She nodded sharply and ran off. John crumpled up the paper, tossing it angrily across the room to hit the (absurd ruin of property in John's opinion) spraypainted face on the wall. He began to turn back to the desk with a sigh, but as soon as he did he did a double take. There was a distinct, small red heart drawn in the middle. He stood up, apprehensive. He walked over and brushed his fingertip across it. It was definitely new. Could Molly or Ms.H have done it? John scratched his head and debated picking at it further. He decided to ignore it and get back to writing.


	2. Staying Away

**Day 2 - 4 Days until the funeral**

Sherlock struggled against the chains in his cell once more. Mycroft shook his head.

"Tsk, tsk Sherlock. Getting a little antsy, then? For god's sake, it's only been a day. When did you get so impatient?" Sherlock rolled his eyes and grumbled, "Because I hate doing this to my friends. My Family. You, John, and Molly are the only ones who know. Not even Mum and Dad know."

"When did you start calling them Mum and Dad? I thought they were the absolute bane of your existence."

"Oh, shut up." Sherlock whined. "How long do I have to rot in here, brother dear?"

"Who is it?"

Silence.

"Who is who?"

"The person you're risking this plan to see."

"...It was an accident. I was being reckless."

"I don't believe you. Do they know?"

"Know?"

"That you're alive."

A pause. Then, "No."

"Really?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Since when did I risk my life for someone?" he said sharply.

"What about John?"

"Well, he's my assistant, I guess."

"And?"

"A doctor, retired soldier-"

"You've risked your life countless times to save him. Why?"

"He's my friend."

"Oh, right. Your 'friends'."

"Yes. I have two friends."

"Met John?"

"No, John and Molly."

Another infinite silence.

"This is for your own good." Mycroft said, for once, with a caring tone. "I wouldn't want you getting in trouble.

"Oh please. I don't need a babysitter."

"Oh, on the contrary. You obviously do. You almost exposed yourself, Sherlock!"

Sherlock looked down, sufficiently quieted.

After a moment of silence, "Can I call someone? To check in?"

"Is it John?"

"...No, it's Molly."

"Fine." Mycroft grabbed Sherlock's cell phone off the rickety table outside his cell. Mycroft handed the phone to Sherlock, waiting. Molly answered on the first ring.

"Something's wrong." she said suddenly. The sound of the phone moving over the line, then John's voice. "Sherlock? Did it backfire?"

"Hi, Molly! I'm just calling to tell you everything went great. No need to worry." Code word: Worry means help.

"Sherlock? Where are you?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I'm gonna have to be captured and held captive so I don't run back to Baker Street." He faked a laugh.

"John, what's going on?" Molly piped up in the background. "Someone's got him." John growled.

"Yes, and you could say we are as close as brothers," Sherlock continued, "I spend a lot of time with him."

"It's Mycroft."

"Well, Molly dear, I must go. See you in four months." He shut the phone.

"What did she say?" Mycroft asked impatiently.

"Oh, nothing really. You could say I did all the talking," he smirked.

After getting back from the lab with Molly, John sat back at the desk and tried to figure out where Sherlock was on his laptop. He absent-mindedly scrolled through websites, noticing something strange on the keyboard. His J key was covered up with red paint, a little red heart. What is up with these bloody things? Ms. H must be going senile.


	3. Getting Impatient

**Day 3 - 3 Days until the funeral**

John had managed to get some of his speech done. He threw open his closet, trying to find a good suit for the funeral. As he sifted through the clothes, he noticed something behind them. Pulling the hangers back, he revealed a red heart, about the size of his palm. He looked up to the ceiling, huffing out a sigh. He picked a suit and slammed the closet closed. Later that day he found about five different hearts of different sizes, scattered in his room.

**Day 4 - 2 Days until the funeral**

John spent the day finishing his speech, hiding from going outside because of press. He finds a heart on his tea box. He asks basically anyone who has entered the flat recently, none of them know what he's talking about.

"Molly? May I come in?"

"Yeah, of course John."

John entered the lab. Molly was behind the counter testing blood samples.

"Oh! Hi, John." she bent over a sample, glancing up at John. "Do you need something?"

"Yes, actually. I think someone is playing a prank on the flat."

"A prank? You sure it's not something dangerous? What is it?"

"Hearts. These bloody little hearts keep popping up all over the flat! It's odd." He slapped his hand against the cold table, winning him a glare from the other lab techs.

"Do you have one on you?"

"Well, most of them are painted on walls and furniture, but this one," he tossed a paper heart on the table. It floated down onto the lab table and Molly grabbed it. She blushed a bit and looked away, back towards her sample. She handed it back to him.

"John, it looks like nothing. It's probably one of Sherlock's experiments on you," she said sullenly, avoiding eye contact. _God, he's so dense. It's obvious._

"...Alright. See you later."

"Bye!"


	4. The Fake Funeral

Day 5 - 1 day until the funeral

John practiced his speech in the mirror, trying to keep himself from faltering while he spoke. His conversation with Molly the day before sobered him about the strange hearts in the flat, and cleared his mind. He kept trying on ties. His suit was straight black except for his tie, which was going to be navy blue. He couldn't find it, though, so he kept trying on other ties. They were too bright or too vibrant.

He thought it might be in Sherlock's room. He walked down the hall, and rested his hand on the doorknob. John inhaled sharply, hesitating. He remembered that Sherlock told him not to go in there. Of course, his instinct was to walk in. But he thought better of himself and said, "After the funeral. Then I find Sherlock. Then I go in his room."

He decided to just call Lestrade and ask to borrow a tie. "Something simple," he had said.

Four hours later, he sat eating dinner with Sherlock's blue scarf around his neck. He was wearing a white and dark grey sweater with blue jeans. He had been busy around the flat, cleaning and dusting, sliding around in his socks. He had to keep up the "I'm so sad and depressed that my best friend is dead" facade while he was around anyone but Molly. He ate slowly, hunched his shoulders, and his face always sagged.

Inside, however, he was counting down the days until Sherlock returned. He couldn't wait to see his best friend again. With his, John remembers, fancy cheekbones and his collar turned up so he looks cool, which he does. He blushed slightly, remembering that he was wearing his scarf. He nuzzled into it, taking in the musky smell of smoke and Sherlock. He hoped Sherlock wouldn't notice John had taken it when he got back.

Day 6 - The Funeral

"Friends, family, I'm here to talk about a great man who walked in our lives." John stumbled through his speech, faking his sniffles and tears for the crowd. Everyone seemed particularly moved. John rubbed his hand on Sherlock's scarf, which he had stashed in his pocket, to keep himself sane. He went through all the mechanics of a funeral, the talking, the crying. Mostly he tried to avoid it all and stick by Molly. They sat, hidden for the moment, on a bench in the cemetery.

"You alright, John?" she said, slightly concerned.

"Yes, I'm fine. It's just...an odd feeling, being here," he sighed.

"God, I know. I can't wait till he's back." She patted his knee. "Well, I'm off. It looks like everyone is clearing out." John waved goodbye and walked over to Sherlock's 'grave'.

"I miss you, you bastard," he grumbled before walking away.


	5. Wearing The Scarf

**One Month till Sherlock's Return**

At this point John had discovered all the little hearts. He had suspicions, but mostly he just ignored them. He now constantly wore the scarf and even the coat on occasion. He spent his days dealing with small cases and updating his blog.

Post #307:

Finished the Lancaster case. Turns out the mother was the killer. She's been arrested and such. Bought a new kind of tea, I hate it.

**One Week till Sherlock's Return**

John was fighting with himself over washing the scarf and coat. "Damn me! I need to wash them so he doesn't know I was wearing them like a bloody psychopath!" he yelled at himself.

"You alright, dear?" Ms. Hudson peeked around the door. John shoved the coat behind his back.

"Yes, I'm fine. Just, ah, stubbed my toe."

"Oh, okay sweetie." She walked away. John ended up hanging the coat and scarf back on the coat hanger. _It's fine, he'll never notice. I'll just say I washed it._


	6. The Return

**The Day of Sherlock's Return**

John bounced on top of the balls of his feet, pacing around the flat. He kept checking his watch, "Two minutes," he grumbled, still pacing. "One," he said, staring at the door. John kept tapping on the arm of his chair. "Five minutes past, damn him." The door to the flat creaked open to Sherlock, plus stubble. He was wearing a suit and tie.

"Had to be late, didn't you!" John growled, but he smiled widely.

"Oh, fashionably," Sherlock smirked. They hugged, John patting him affectionately.

"Well, not much has changed…" John trailed off when he saw Sherlock sniff his coat, and scarf a few times.

"Something wrong, Sherlock?"

"Nothing. Just been away too long." They had tea and talked for a few moments about the strange hearts around the flat.

"Really, Sherlock? You don't know anything about them?"

"No idea. I'll deduce it later. Now John, I really must be off." Sherlock slipped on the coat, smiling. Just as he was going out the door, "Oh, and John, stay out of my room!" he shouted before slamming the door. John raised an eyebrow and walked down the foyer, reaching toward Sherlock's door. He reached, then hesitated, then reached. John turned the knob, walking in.

The dust on the floor and shelves hit him and he coughed, waving in front of his face. As soon as the dust cleared and he could see, he gaped at the massive amount of papers and photos on the wall, pinned and taped and glued all over. But what surprised him the most was the gigantic painting in front of him.

It was a heart, like the others, but intricate. The red paint swirled in crazy patterns to make the heart, covering up maps and research papers that Sherlock had printed out months ago. What really caught his eye was the small, fancy text in the middle. It read:

"J.W."


	7. Arguing With Myself

**The Next Day**

"I'm surprised," Sherlock spoke suddenly. They were sitting in the main room in their chairs.

"What?" John looked up from his newspaper.

"You actually cared that I was gone."

"What are you talking about, Sherlock?"

"Well, you've obviously been wearing my scarf and my coat- my coat occasionally, especially when it's chilly and my scarf, well, I don't think I'll ever be able to wash your scent out of it. Your hair is messy and unkempt, proving that you're stressed or you've been worried. I assume it's the latter. Your clothes are wrinkled, like you haven't even bothered to do your laundry, and there are many coffee cups in the sink so I'm assuming you can't sleep- there's where worry comes in. The caffeine keeps you awake through your day. I've kept up with your blog, don't worry- you've been solving cases, and they were all for the most part correct. The people were right, the evidence was wrong. Not forgetting to mention the wrinkles-"

"Alright! I get it, Sherlock!"

"Good."

There was a long silence, every once in a while interrupted by John sipping his black coffee. Sherlock stood up abruptly, grabbing his violin off the desk. He rummaged for the bow, eventually finding it under a bunch of papers from John's cases. He walked over to the window, and began playing a slow, intricate tune.

Sherlock's face was straight and emotionless, but inside his brain was going crazy. He entered his Mind Palace while playing, which happened rarely.

There were three Sherlocks in there waiting to greet him. Sherlock 1 was a teen version of him who spent too much time on the internet. The second Sherlock was his age, but just more… humane. The third was a perfect replica of himself, so Sherlock could talk to someone who always agreed with him.

Sherlock 1: "Oh, there you are! We've been waiting!"

Sherlock 3: "Oh shut up, you!"

Sherlock: "Okay, I understand what you're all thinking-"

Sherlock 2: "You even told him this time! He was still worried!"

Sherlock: "How the hell am I supposed to get him to not worry?!" He muttered, "And not wear my clothes…"

Sherlock 1: "I heard that!"

Sherlock 3: "Alright, now it's time to face the big problem- you have a crush on him."

Sherlock: "What?"

Sherlock 2: "You fancy him, don't you?"

Sherlock: "Shut up, you arrogant bastard! I do not!"

Sherlock 1: "First of all, by insulting him you insult all of us including you. Secondly, you do."

Sherlock: "Bloody hell, stop this!"

While all this is going on inside his head, he begins cringing and making angry faces out the window. John looked over, confused. "Sherlock? Are you alright?"

"AUGH!" he shouted. He looked at John, smiling apologetically. "Yes, I just remembered I have to shave," he said, scratching his stubble. He rushed off to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

"Well," John sighed. "Drama queen."

"I heard that!" a voice shouted from down the hall.

John smiled, a faint pink spreading across his cheeks. _God, I'm turning into a teenage girl._


	8. You Found It

**2 Days After Sherlock's Return**

Sherlock was pacing the flat, rubbing his temples. "John! John, where are you, I need your help!"

"With what?" he called from the other room.

"A case! What do you think?"

"I don't know, it could've been with finding something!"

"Just… Hurry up and get out here so we're not yelling!"

"Coming! Coming…" John muttered as he quickly walked into the main room.

"Ah! There you are! So…" He sat down, finally, and opened his laptop. "Here's the case." He looked at John, his face serious. "I need your help."

After three hours of rummaging through evidence and pointing fingers at people, they figured out it was the butler. Of course, the murderer was always the butler.

John turned to Sherlock, their noses just inches away from each other. They both quickly turned away as John said quietly, "It's nice to have you back."

"It's nice to be back, I suppose," Sherlock replied.

**3 Days After Sherlock's Return**

"You found it."

"What?" John took a double-take at Sherlock.

"You found it. You found the hearts. I was leaving these for you to show you that I was still here," Sherlock smiled.

John felt the tips of his ears turn red. That heart in Sherlock's room said 'J.W.' on it; was this Sherlock's way of confessing to John?

The army doctor paced to the other side of the room and sat down in his chair. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"John, every heart I hid has disappeared from its location. I thought they might be in your room, but I checked there and didn't find anything. Are you telling me Mrs. Hudson found them instead? They weren't exactly meant for her-"

"Sherlock, you're babbling again."

"Let me babble! John, you found them, I know you did." Sherlock got up from the couch and quickly walked across the room, grabbing John's wrist. There was silence.

The detective stood up and turned around. "Your pulse quickened."

John felt his face burn with a blush and turned his head towards the fireplace, pretending to be interested in the pictures on the mantle. One specific picture suddenly caught his attention. It was them on their first case, laughing as they ducked under the yellow "DO NOT ENTER" banner placed around the crime scene. When was that taken? And by who? Then his eyes grazed over the rest of them.

They were all from their old cases- A Study in Pink to the Reichenbach Fall, where Sherlock faked his death to save his friends. He realized it now.

He gave up on trying to hide it, as Sherlock would find out anyways.

"Okay, yes, I found it. So what?"

"So wha- _SO WHAT?!_ John Hamish Watson, that was my _confession_ to you! And you say '_so what_?'"


End file.
